


Persevere

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (one scene at the beginning), Alternate Universe - Dark, Blood and Gore, M/M, Murder, Not Canon Compliant, Not Happy, Past Character Death, Revenge, Slight Blasphemy, They're Not Coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Losing someone is a fresh wound, each and every time. Every time there's the same questions, the samecan I really make it on my own?, but every time the answer is stillyes.It turns out a person can live without their lost loved ones just fine. It changes them, yes, but whatdoesn't?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [like stars to the ocean](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1201537) by [Bambie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bambie/pseuds/Bambie). 



> Inspired by the fic (soooo good, guys, seriously, I adore this one), which you should definitely read (and probably first, actually). This kinda of... goes along with the universe, but also kind of doesn't? Some things contradict, but the "base" (what that explicitly is is explained in the bottom notes) of it is the same. 
> 
> Blood/murdery/gore - though not real, real heavy, it's still here - is literally the opening scene.
> 
> Line that actually inspired it all:
> 
> " _Lydia Martin brings her sharp-red heel down on his face, precise, crisp, clean, and the hunter sinks away again._ " -- [like stars to the ocean](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1201537) by [Bambie. ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bambie/pseuds/Bambie)

                Lydia's heel, bright red like the blood it's about to spill, comes down harsh and sharp, right through the eye socket. Stiles watches, expressionless; sees the crimson rain and mucus-filling puddle; hears the _splat_ of it all hit the floor, flooding together and around the head.

 

                She pulls away and all he can think to himself is, _that's one hell of a weapon_.

 

                One hell of a stomp, too.

 

* * *

 

 

                "What do you think," he starts, then stops, licks his lips, ignoring how they're so chapped now he can feel each piece of raised, dead skin. "Happens to people like us?"

 

                Lydia makes a sound, something between a hum and a _well_ (but not quite either, not quite both), not looking up from where she's wiping away spare droplets of blood from her ankle. She purses her lips, more for his benefit than anything, before she glances over her nails to check for damage. "I've never believed in hell, myself."

 

                She doesn't tack on an, _"If that's what you're asking.”_ She knows it is and they both know he knows too. They've stood alongside each other too long now to not.

 

                He turns away and decides to look out the window. There's nothing out there but dirt. Dirt and dirt and dirt.

 

                He hates dirt.

 

                "Mom did."

 

                Lydia makes that noise again, but doesn't say anything else.

 

* * *

 

 

                She doesn't ask if he believes. He doesn't expect her to.

 

                But if she did ask, he's not sure what he'd answer with.

 

                He'd probably just think about Derek again because... well, when does he _not_?

 

* * *

 

 

                Derek wasn't an angel. He wasn't God, either, but hell if every moment under his gaze didn't feel like some kind of heaven.

 

                Stiles dreams about it sometimes, that gaze. Sometimes it burns him, like it always did, but sometimes it turns blank and glassy, dead and lifeless, and sometimes it doesn't feel like heaven anymore – unless there's some kind of twisted, almost one, for sinners like him. Not quite hell though, not with Derek there.

 

                He wakes up quickly after those dreams, no air in his lungs to breathe. The clock he reads is never later than a few hours before he went to bed.

 

                He still doesn't go back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

                Derek, if he's watching, probably doesn't want this for either of them – no. Stiles _knows_ he wouldn't want this for them. For him, for Lydia, for anyone.

 

                Stiles doesn't _care_.

 

                Not anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

                His philosophy is (it's new and a recent thing, too, but Lydia seems to approve) this:

 

                If they're not around and able to tell you to stop, you might as well keep going.

 

* * *

 

 

                He keeps going.

**Author's Note:**

> so if you haven't, you should check out [that other fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1201537), because it's darker, but it's definitely worth reading. 
> 
> spoilers, for both this fic and Bambie's  
> base of it is essentially revnge-murder/avenging derek (and co). i just wanted to write a quick note about lydia murdering people with her heel and things took a little bit of a turn


End file.
